I’m standing at the sink rinsing out coffee cups when Grandpa clears his throat.
“Danae.”
I turn immediately. “Yes, sir?”
He pats the bed. “Come sit with me.”
My stomach tightens.
His tone isn’t weak. It isn’t confused. It’s the tone he used when I was little and he needed to tell me something that mattered.
I dry my hands and walk over, sitting on the ottoman in front of him the way I always have.
Josie glances over her shoulder at us. Something in her eyes says she knows what’s coming.
The shower turns off down the hall. Grandpa studies me for a long moment. His eyes are clearer than they’ve been in weeks. Focused.
“You look tired,” he says.
I let out a small laugh. “I am.”
“You look scared too.”
The word lands heavy. “I was,” I admit quietly.
He nods slowly. “When that deputy knocked on the door yesterday morning, and I realized you weren’t in your bed,” His voice wavers, and he clears it. “I’ve known fear before. But that was a different kind.”
My throat tightens.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I don’t ever want you to worry.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t you dare apologize.”
The bathroom door opens softly. I hear Miles’ boots in the hallway, slower now, probably pulling on his shirt. He doesn’t come out yet.
Grandpa leans back slightly.
“You know,” he begins, gaze drifting toward the window, “I was eighteen when I went to Vietnam.”
I blink.
He doesn’t talk about Vietnam much. He told stories when I was younger—careful, filtered ones. But not like this.
“I was scared outta my mind,” he explains. “Didn’t know those boys from anywhere. Different states. Different backgrounds. Different colors. Some of ‘em talked funny. Some of ‘em thought I talked funny.”
A faint smile tugs at his mouth.
“But you know what I learned over there?”
I shake my head.
“Family ain’t always blood,” he continues. “Family is the man who takes your back when bullets start flying. Family is the one who drags you outta the mud when you’re too tired to stand. Don’t matter where he comes from. Don’t matter what patch he wears or what church he goes to.”
My chest tightens. He looks at me directly now.
“That man over there, behind you,” he says gently, “he rode across states for you.”
I swallow. “Yes, sir.”
